Colovian Miscreants
by Adrian Lenoit
Summary: A tale of young Adrian Lenoit and his philandering brother, Antony, growing up in Colovia. When Adrian was young, Antony gave him a strange bit of wisdom. Years later, it echoed back to him, and he realized Antony had been right all along.


Warm wind rushing over his face like the hot breath of the gods themselves, the rhythmic, bony clop of hoofbeats beneath him, the horse running at the same pace as his rapidly beating heart. Crisp blue sky above stretching out for miles like pristine stained glass in some gargantuan temple. Emerald grass all around, sparkling with liquid diamonds left by early morning rain. In the distance, the Valus mountains, throne of the gods, silent tributes to Kynareth's architectural skill, loomed majestically, sunlight smiling down upon them in the foggy distance. All around him, the yellowed, crumbling remains of forts, long forgotten bastions of the old wars with the Ayleids, left to decay by time. Yes, The Heartlands certainly were something to see, especially from horseback and especially at a good clip. While Antony could most definitely appreciate nature's beauty, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the group of bloodthirsty men at his back, charging after him down the slope of the land. He could hear their shouts, calling for his head, hungry for his blood.

"Come on, lads! Can't we settle this like gentlemen?" Antony called back, turning in his saddle to greet the angry faces as he extended his olive branch. The only responses he received were a few garbled curses and an arrow that whizzed past him, the malicious missile nearly grazing his shoulder. Much too close for comfort. "Guess not," he concluded, turning back in his saddle and cracking his reins softly, urging the horse to go faster.

He knew it would only be a matter of time before his horse tired, allowing one of the other men to overtake him and spill his blood. Luckily for him, this was a lot he'd never dealt with, or more appropriately, who'd never dealt with him. Shimmering in the distance, the deep pond right outside of Fort Nikel offered a safe haven beneath its murky surface, the fort itself casting a fat shadow on the still water. As he closed in, another arrow shot past, close enough for him to feel the breeze of its cruel intent, raising the hairs on his neck.

_Not much farther now._

Antony readied himself, pulling his feet out of their stirrups to crouch on the soft, cracked surface of the saddle. The lake came closer and closer, the sanctuary offered by the cool water nearly within his fevered grasp. The Breton grinned, thinking of how sickly comical it would be if he were plucked out of the air in mid jump by another hateful arrow, snatched out of the waiting arms of a merciful savior by a lucky shot. But venturing nothing gains nothing, right?

_Right!_

Not waiting around to see when the next arrow would arrive, the Breton jumped. Time slowed down, his body tense with anticipation, each muscle tightened, ready for whatever fate awaited him. Would he feel the water first? The arrow? The temperature of the pond broke his concentration, sending his thoughts in all directions like rats fleeing a hungry predator. He hastily regained himself, swimming deeper, where arrows wouldn't reach, until he felt his breath about to run out, his lungs burning as he struggled not to inhale.

A brief moment of concentration brought him relief in the form of a flash of other-worldly light. A tingling on his skin, like millions of tiny bubbles popping one after the other, then a feeling of fullness as his lungs filled with precious air. He gripped on to a large, algae covered rock at the bottom of the pond to keep himself submerged, clinging to the mucky stone like a newborn mudcrab, casting Water Breathing spells to sate his lungs. Antony could stay down at the bottom of the pond almost indefinitely, floating amongst the weeds and minnows, but living like a fish simply for the sake of saving his own skin from a group of backwards farm boys quickly wore on his nerves.

Antony remained under the water for several more minutes, every few minutes squinting up toward the surface to check the position of the sun, piercing light distorted by the surface of the pool. Finally, he resurfaced. The men had left, a quick look around reassured him of such.

"Cowards!" he spat, hauling himself out of the water, soaked to the bone and dripping like a fresh wound.

The horse would surely return home if left untied or unridden, clever creature it was, so no worries there. Only one problem persisted: Skingrad.

When he'd gone to visit his latest lady, a delightful young Nord named Alma, in the hills just south of Chorrol, he'd only been a few hours outside of town. They'd caught him attempting to sneak out in the early morning hours, before the sun had risen and chased him until it sat high and bright, only a few hours until noon would reduce the shadows to nothing but rounded spots on the earth. As with most things, Antony made an art of dealing with farmer's daughters. Dealing with the angry father's, brothers, uncles, and whathaveyou of farmer's daughters seemed like another stroke of the brush. The escape? His signature on another fine work.

With a chuckle and a shrug, Antony set down the road toward home, following the winding path to his fate. What other choice did he have with his horse likely halfway back home? He could only hope mother and father hadn't noticed his absence and that Adrian would cover for him like always. He'd not done anything too mean to him lately, except for the ink he'd put in his tea the other afternoon, but who could resist such a prank? Besides, they'd both laughed afterwards. Almost certain of his little brother's loyalty, Antony pressed on. Whatever would be would be. What else could he do? What else could anyone do?

* * *

Adrian stared, eyes dulled by boredom, mouth misshapen by the press of his palm against his cheek, at the notebook in front of him. The page was mostly filled, tiny scribblings here and there, written around diagrams of the sigil stone resting on the oaken desk, surface dotted with a million pinpoints of light created by the nearby oil lamp. The stone seemed to stare back, vehemently refusing to share its secrets, the silence almost leading the Breton to believe it didn't really hold any at all. But father, all knowing teacher and guru, requested he do it and Adrian held no intention of letting his old man down. He tapped the dry point of his quill against the parchment, leaving tiny pinpricks of black, tiny flecks of ink sticking to the page, waiting for the words to come again. The ageless stone had shut itself up for the better part of an hour, a semi-opaque bastard mocking him with reticence.

The lamp flickered softly, soft orange light painting the page he'd written upon, turning the sheets from soft brownish yellow to a burnt orange color. The Breton huffed through his nose, reaching over to turn the knob on the lantern, the flame slowly fading until it vanished altogether in the blackened glass cell surrounding it. He turned the book over, leaving thin ghosts of his writings on the blotter.

His parents departed long ago, called off to Anvil before the sun rose for some sort of important research, leaving him alone in the house. He didn't like the feeling of solitude so much. The eerie echoes of his footsteps as he tromped up the stairs to his room, the all-too-clear sounds of people bustling near the door, mischievous phantom voices teasing at his spine. It all caused him to feel _exposed_, as if there were no protection from the evils lurking in the dark corners in the outside world. He shuddered at the thought, hoping his brother would be home soon, bring some life back into this place. Antony left early, clearly long before he or his parents woke, and hadn't returned. It wasn't his brother's well being which worried Adrian, or the knowledge of what his parents might do if they found out he'd been gone so long, simply the unsettling thought of being all alone weighing down upon him.

The boy jumped, surprised by a series solid thump coming from the other room. Someone in the house? A burglar? An assassin?! No, wait. None of those. It made no sense.

"The door. It's only the door," he assured himself quietly, creeping his way into the foyer to stand in front of the wooden portal to the realm of the outdoors.

Adrian placed his hand upon the latch, leaning his face into the chilly wooden frame.

"Who is it?" he called, summoning a voice that made him sound much more confident than he truly felt. A man instead of a mouse.

"It's Dion," the voice called back, much deeper, much more robust than he could have hoped to be. Confidence embodied.

The Breton sighed softly, as the Captain of the Guard rarely visited for a social call, so it either meant his parents met some sort of trouble or they'd caught Antony doing something he shouldn't have been.

He pressed down on the latch, pulling the door open to face Dion. There the Captain stood, arms crossed, lips pursed in a most annoyed expression, leaving no question as to who'd caused the trouble.

"Good afternoon," Adrian greeted, clearing his throat as he heard the words squeak from between his lips, "is there something I can do for you, Dion?"

"Hello, Adrian," Dion replied, reaching up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, clearly vexed. "Your brother wouldn't happen to be in, would he?" the Imperial asked, moving his hand away from his face. "I'm sure I saw him in the chapel yard only a short while ago."

"Antony? No, I haven't seen him all day," Adrian replied, veracious for once in regard to his brother's location. Antony always seemed to need an alibi and Adrian always seemed to be the one required to supply it.

"Really?" Dion queried in turn. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I came in and looked around then?"

After a moment of hesitation Adrian stepped back, pulling the door open wide. "Be my guest," he offered, even extending an arm to express the seriousness of the offer.

Dion stepped inside, giving Adrian a sidelong glance in passing. He began poking around the house, the occasional irritated mumble slipping through his lips. Opening doors and cabinets, and even going so far as to look under the sheet obscuring the underside of their dining table.

_For the love of Dibella, I wonder if he's going to start looking underneath the vases. _Adrian mused, unable to contain a small smile.

"All right. I know he's here, but I can't prove it," Dion growled, turning toward Adrian , first with a look of restrained anger, then with a disappointed sigh. "Be good," he said, ruffling Adrian's short head of hair as he passed, closing the front door behind him.

Adrian merely stood for a moment, gently smoothing his hair back into place. He then took the front key out from beneath the potted plant by the door, locking it before turning back around.

Suddenly, a noise. A soft tapping like tiny pieces of rubble falling nearby. The Breton looked toward the fire place, able to clearly see tiny specs of soot and stone falling onto the cold, blackened log.

The boy's eyes widened for a moment, a brief pang of confusion taking him. Then he regained his senses, his face reverting back to the same look of stoicism it usually kept.

"You can come out now," he grumbled.

Bit by bit, Antony appeared. First his boots, dirtied by black dust, then his legs, trousers lightly grayed.

"I thought he'd never leave! Can't imagine the trouble we'd be in if I'd sneezed!"

Antony's jovial tone did nothing to assuage Adrian's irritation. In fact, when the younger sibling saw his brother emerge, skin blackened like he'd made some insane attempt to disguise himself as a Redguard, he became more vexed than he'd been when Dion arrived.

"What have you done this time?" Adrian demanded, looking disgustedly at his brother, arms crossed firmly over his chest. The boy's brows knit tightly together, anger expressed perfectly on his face.

Antony looked back into his little brother's face, carefully scrutinizing. Then he laughed, his chuckles shaking him, causing soot to fall from his disheveled hair.

The younger Lenoit raised his voice, demanding to know precisely what his waggish sibling found so _damned_ funny.

Antony raised his face to meet Adrian's, laughter suddenly ceasing, but smile staying. "You look like father is all. Sound like him, too" Antony explained, voice full of mirth, mouth casting a warm smile over his cantankerous brother.

Adrian gaped for a moment, then sighed, his face softening as, once again, Antony managed to take the heat out of him. He regarded his brother a moment longer, unable to contain a small laugh before allowing his gaze to drift towards the floor.

"Besides, now isn't the time for interrogations. Go fetch a bucket of water and a brush," Antony instructed, shooing his brother off with a few quick waves of his hand.

Adrian nodded, knowing the kind of trouble they'd be in if mother came home to a messy house. The last time Antony snuck into the house via the chimney, he'd nearly worn through the knees of a new pair of pants with all the time he'd spent scrubbing the floors. Of course, Antony found a way to weasel out of his punishment for the most part, only having to spend a few hours on his knees, which didn't compare to the half day Adrian spent cleaning.

Adrian returned, bearing a brush and bucket along with a set of new clothes for Antony, who he filled in on their parents' situation. In return, Antony filled his younger brother in on where he'd been. Adrian wasn't surprised in the least.

"Anvil, eh?" Antony mused, carefully changing behind his kneeling brother, trying to keep the soot on his clothes and off the furniture. "I suppose I lucked out this time," he chuckled.

"Yeah. Luck," Adrian muttered, hard at work scrubbing up the black spots left from his brothers needlessly theatrical entrance, angrily thinking the show-off could of used the back door almost as easily. "So, the girl's protectors got to the guard again, did they?" he questioned idly, dipping the brush back into the bucket.

"No, I'd never dealt with this lot before, so it's doubtful they know where I live," Antony answered, placing his soiled clothes in a neat little pile by the hearth. "I'm just glad I uh..." he muttered, not finishing his thought.

"What's wrong?" Adrian asked, dropping the brush into the bucket as he finished, cocking a brow at his brother's strange behavior. "Cat got your tongue?"

Antony quietly demurred, babbling softly rather than speaking. Adrian, an unflappable nuisance in his brother's affairs, wouldn't be put off. He began to interrogate again, not caring whether or not he resembled their father in any way. If his brother was to be in some sort of trouble, he'd be damned to wander Dagon's Deadlands for all eternity if he wasn't at least informed. Not only did he want to chastise Antony, but the lout could often dig himself a deeper hole with his spontaneity when trying to escape the quagmire he'd gotten himself into. Adrian, being the more analytical brother, had gotten his older sibling out of trouble on more than one occasion. Finally, he talked Antony into blurting a seemingly innocuous detail, revealing that he'd taken a horse late the night before and departed to his latest interest's abode in northern Colovia.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Antony knew he'd revealed himself. He could see the epiphany in Adrian's eyes, the realization flashing in his mind.

"When I saw mother and father off this morning they took both of our horses," Adrian replied, not wanting to realize what he already knew to be true.

"Yes," Antony replied, shrugging. "I said I took _a _horse, I never said I took one of _our _horses."

"You stole a _horse?!_" Adrian nearly shrieked, his young voice in the midst of a change. "Do you have any idea what this could mean? Do you know what they do to horse thieves?"

"Of course I do!" Antony shouted back, a bloom of frustrated, embarrassed anger flourishing on his face. "It's not like I even meant to steal the damned thing."

Adrian said nothing, not that he could think of a thing to say to a response like that. He opted to simply stare perplexedly at his brother.

"It was dark," Antony muttered indignantly, "I could barely see and I thought the one I took was ours. I had no idea," he shrugged, his eyes meeting Adrian's.

The two looked at each other, both feeling something bubbling beneath the surface. It started to seep through, first in awkward looks and tugs of the lips, then in stifled snorts. Finally, it exploded, both brothers double over in fits of laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole damn situation, faces red with the exertion of such hearty noise. Their fits petered out in much the same way they began, struggling at first, tiny bursts escaping one or the other before they finally settled into their normal dispositions again.

"So, what are you going to do about the horse?" Adrian inquired, struggling not to let the smile creep back onto his face.

"Hopefully it shall return to the stables without anyone being the wiser," Antony replied, faint echoes of laughter in his voice, "but, if it doesn't, Dion can't really _prove_ I stole it, can he?" the Breton asked with an arched eyebrow.

Adrian simply shrugged, wishing the problem could disappear as easily as the soot from the fireplace, but such wouldn't be the case.

"No matter what," Antony breathed, sly smirk crossing his face, "the trip will certainly be worth taking the punishment."

"I'd _really_ rather not know the details, Antony," the younger Lenoit replied, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Antony clapped his arm about his brother's shoulders, pulling him toward the window . The sun was beginning to set in the west. It burned red, hanging in the sky, an overripe tomato ready to fall behind the horizon and bring its gift to the other side of the ocean.

"Women are wonderful, Adrian. Wonderful and beautiful," Antony mused, a small smile painted on his face, red sunlight gleaming through the window.

Adrian nodded sagely, trying to bask in the glow of his brother's moment of unexpected poetic articulation.

"They're also insane," Antony blurted, "at least, the good ones are."

Adrian sighed, the sudden loss of pride in his sibling's words causing him to deflate a little bit. There was a soft rattle as his forehead came to rest against the window pane.

Antony chuckled behind him, a sound of smug satisfaction in his chortles. He'd known the whole time how his brother would react.

"Isn't that a little bit...chauvinistic?" Adrian inquired, his breath fogging up the frosted glass of the window.

"No. Well, maybe a bit," Antony retorted with a shrug. "Believe me, they think the exact same thing about us." The older sibling gently patted his little brother's shoulder. "You'll understand when you're a bit older. You've got to find one who's insane in a way you like."

Adrian sighed softly, shaking his head as he rose up to look out the window again, watching the sky turn red as the tired sun sank in the distance. Antony called out something about dinner, but Adrian could barely hear him.

* * *

"Adrian? Did you hear me?" Vaera demanded, growing impatient with the dreamy mage.

"What's that?" Adrian stirred, raising his head from the solidness of the rock behind him.

"I asked you what you wanted to eat tonight," Vaera repeated, giving the Breton an odd look. "Did you fall asleep?"

"No, I only drifted off a bit," he replied, turning to look back toward the sky. There the sun hung, blood red, sinking slowly in the bruised sky. "The day seems so much shorter than yesterday," he commented, pushing himself up to his feet. "We should be getting back."

"You never told me what you wanted for dinner," the Dunmer reminded him, taking his offered hand and pulling herself up.

"Stew, I suppose. We don't have much left to work with," he shrugged, taking to the path, Dunmer companion by his side.

"Sounds good to me," she agreed, moving in close to take his arm. She released it after a moment, playfully flicking his arm. "Race ya to the gate?" she offered, raising her eyebrows, excited grin crossing her face.

"What's gotten into you?" Adrian queried, raising an eyebrow of his own, unable to help smiling a bit. At that moment, the words his philandering brother had spoken so long ago rang true. He'd found one he liked.

"I can't feel a little spry every now and again?" the mer retorted, "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Vaera, don't be silly," Adrian sighed, giving Vaera cause to frown and look away. "Besides, loser makes dinner." His voice remained perfectly normal, right up to the point where he took off.

"That's not fair!" Vaera called from behind, laugher in her voice as she sprinted to catch up.

Back in Skingrad, their home awaited, bearing a warm hearth and the bed they now shared.


End file.
